More praise forFLIPPED“We flipped over this fantastic book, its gutsy girl Juli and its wise, wonderfulending.”—The Chicago Tribune“Delightful! Delicious! And totally teen.”—BookPage* “With a charismatic leading lady kids will flip over, a compelling dynamicbetween the two narrators and a resonant ending, this novel is a great deallarger than the sum of its parts.”—Publishers Weekly, Starred“A wonderful, light-hearted novel.”—Library Talk“This is a wry character study, a romance with substance and subtlety.”—Booklist“A highly agreeable romantic comedy.”—Kirkus Reviews Dedicated with infinite love toColton and Connor,who make me feel like so much more than the sum of my parts. Special thanks to …my husband, Mark Parsons,who helps me feel the magic,andmy excellent editor, Nancy Siscoe,for her care and insight(and for making me stick to a reduced-filler diet).Also, eternal gratitude toTad Callahan and Patricia Gabel,who were on the ball when we needed it most.Finally, thanks to Jeanne Madrid and the staff at Casa De Vida—may you keep the spirit. CONTENTSDiving UnderFlippedBuddy, Beware!The Sycamore TreeBrawk-Brawk-Brawk!The EggsGet a Grip, ManThe YardLooming Large and SmellyThe VisitThe Serious WilliesThe DinnerFlippedThe Basket Boys Diving UnderAll I've ever wanted is for Juli Baker to leave me alone. For her to back off —you know, just give me some space.It all started the summer before second grade when our moving van pulledinto her neighborhood. And since we're now about done with the eighth grade,that, my friend, makes more than half a decade of strategic avoidance and socialdiscomfort.She didn't just barge into my life. She barged and shoved and wedged her wayinto my life. Did we invite her to get into our moving van and start climbing allover boxes? No! But that's exactly what she did, taking over and showing offlike only Juli Baker can.My dad tried to stop her. “Hey!” he says as she's catapulting herself on board.“What are you doing? You're getting mud everywhere!” So true, too. Her shoeswere, like, caked with the stuff.She didn't hop out, though. Instead, she planted her rear end on the floor andstarted pushing a big box with her feet. “Don't you want some help?” Sheglanced my way. “It sure looks like you need it.”I didn't like the implication. And even though my dad had been tossing me thesame sort of look all week, I could tell — he didn't like this girl either. “Hey!Don't do that,” he warned her. “There are some really valuable things in thatbox.”“Oh. Well, how about this one?” She scoots over to a box labeled LENOX andlooks my way again. “We should push it together!”“No, no, no!” my dad says, then pulls her up by the arm. “Why don't you runalong home? Your mother's probably wondering where you are.”This was the beginning of my soon-to-become-acute awareness that the girlcannot take a hint. Of any kind. Does she zip on home like a kid should whenthey've been invited to leave? No. She says, “Oh, my mom knows where I am.She said it was fine.” Then she points across the street and says, “We just liveright over there.”My father looks to where she's pointing and mutters, “Oh boy.” Then he looks at me and winks as he says, “Bryce, isn't it time for you to go inside and helpyour mother?”I knew right off that this was a ditch play. And I didn't think about it untillater, but ditch wasn't a play I'd run with my dad before. Face it, pulling a ditch isnot something discussed with dads. It's like, against parental law to tell your kidit's okay to ditch someone, no matter how annoying or muddy they might be.But there he was, putting the play in motion, and man, he didn't have to winktwice. I smiled and said, “Sure thing!” then jumped off the liftgate and headedfor my new front door.I heard her coming after me but I couldn't believe it. Maybe it just soundedlike she was chasing me; maybe she was really going the other way. But before Igot up the nerve to look, she blasted right past me, grabbing my arm and yankingme along.This was too much. I planted myself and was about to tell her to get lost whenthe weirdest thing happened. I was making this big windmill motion to breakaway from her, but somehow on the downswing my hand wound up tanglinginto hers. I couldn't believe it. There I was, holding the mud monkey's hand!I tried to shake her off, but she just clamped on tight and yanked me along,saying, “C'mon!”My mom came out of the house and immediately got the world's sappiest lookon her face. “Well, hello,” she says to Juli.“Hi!”I'm still trying to pull free, but the girl's got me in a death grip. My mom'sgrinning, looking at our hands and my fiery red face. “And what's your name,honey?”“Julianna Baker. I live right over there,” she says, pointing with herunoccupied hand.“Well, I see you've met my son,” she says, still grinning away.“Uh-huh!”Finally I break free and do the only manly thing available when you're sevenyears old — I dive behind my mother.Mom puts her arm around me and says, “Bryce, honey, why don't you showJulianna around the house?”I flash her help and warning signals with every part of my body, but she's notreceiving. Then she shakes me off and says, “Go on.”Juli would've tramped right in if my mother hadn't noticed her shoes and toldher to take them off. And after those were off, my mom told her that her dirty socks had to go, too. Juli wasn't embarrassed. Not a bit. She just peeled them offand left them in a crusty heap on our porch.I didn't exactly give her a tour. I locked myself in the bathroom instead. Andafter about ten minutes of yelling back at her that no, I wasn't coming outanytime soon, things got quiet out in the hall. Another ten minutes went bybefore I got the nerve to peek out the door.No Juli.I snuck out and looked around, and yes! She was gone.Not a very sophisticated ditch, but hey, I was only seven.My troubles were far from over, though. Every day she came back, over andover again. “Can Bryce play?” I could hear her asking from my hiding placebehind the couch. “Is he ready yet?” One time she even cut across the yard andlooked through my window. I spotted her in the nick of time and dove under mybed, but man, that right there tells you something about Juli Baker. She's got noconcept of personal space. No respect for privacy. The world is her playground,and watch out below — Juli's on the slide!Lucky for me, my dad was willing to run block. And he did it over and overagain. He told her I was busy or sleeping or just plain gone. He was a lifesaver.My sister, on the other hand, tried to sabotage me any chance she got.Lynetta's like that. She's four years older than me, and buddy, I've learned fromwatching her how not to run your life. She's got ANTAGONIZE written all over her.Just look at her — not cross-eyed or with your tongue sticking out or anything— just look at her and you've started an argument.I used to knock-down-drag-out with her, but it's just not worth it. Girls don'tfight fair. They pull your hair and gouge you and pinch you; then they run offgasping to mommy when you try and defend yourself with a fist. Then you getlocked into time-out, and for what? No, my friend, the secret is, don't snap at thebait. Let it dangle. Swim around it. Laugh it off. After a while they'll give up andtry to lure someone else.At least that's the way it is with Lynetta. And the bonus of having her as apain-in-the-rear sister was figuring out that this method works on everyone.Teachers, jerks at school, even Mom and Dad. Seriously. There's no winningarguments with your parents, so why get all pumped up over them? It is waybetter to dive down and get out of the way than it is to get clobbered by someparental tidal wave.The funny thing is, Lynetta's still clueless when it comes to dealing with Momand Dad. She goes straight into thrash mode and is too busy drowning in the argument to take a deep breath and dive for calmer water.And she thinks I'm stupid.Anyway, true to form, Lynetta tried to bait me with Juli those first few days.She even snuck her past Dad once and marched her all around the house, huntingme down. I wedged myself up on the top shelf of my closet, and lucky for me,neither of them looked up. A few minutes later I heard Dad yell at Juli to get offthe antique furniture, and once again, she got booted.I don't think I went outside that whole first week. I helped unpack stuff andwatched TV and just kind of hung around while my mom and dad arranged andrearranged the furniture, debating whether Empire settees and French Rococotables should even be put in the same room.So believe me, I was dying to go outside. But every time I checked throughthe window, I could see Juli showing off in her yard. She'd be heading a soccerball or doing high kicks with it or dribbling it up and down their driveway. Andwhen she wasn't busy showing off, she'd just sit on the curb with the ballbetween her feet, staring at our house.My mom didn't understand why it was so awful that “that cute little girl” hadheld my hand. She thought I should make friends with her. “I thought you likedsoccer, honey. Why don't you go out there and kick the ball around?”Because I didn't want to be kicked around, that's why. And although I couldn'tsay it like that at the time, I still had enough sense at age seven and a half toknow that Juli Baker was dangerous.Unavoidably dangerous, as it turns out. The minute I walked into Mrs.Yelson's second-grade classroom, I was dead meat. “Bryce!” Juli squeals.“You're here.” Then she charges across the room and tackles me.Mrs. Yelson tried to explain this attack away as a “welcome hug,” but man,that was no hug. That was a front-line, take-'em-down tackle. And even though Ishook her off, it was too late. I was branded for life. Everyone jeered, “Where'syour girl friend, Bryce?” “Are you married yet, Bryce?” And then when shechased me around at recess and tried to lay kisses on me, the whole schoolstarted singing, “Bryce and Juli sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…”My first year in town was a disaster.Third grade wasn't much better. She was still hot on my trail every time Iturned around. Same with fourth. But then in fifth grade I took action.It started out slow — one of those Nah-that's-not-right ideas you get andforget. But the more I played with the idea, the more I thought, What better wayto ward Juli off? What better way to say to her, “Juli, you are not my type”?
